Fierce Fragile Hearts

by Sara Barnard

  ‘Are these all the photos you have?’ I ask.

  She’s surprised. ‘Don’t you think it’s a lot? I’m quite proud of how many I have.’

  ‘I was just thinking how Caddy and Rosie probably took more photos on their first night at uni than you have in your whole collection.’

  She squints at me and I smile so she’ll know I’m not trying to be rude. She smiles back. ‘It is funny how times change. Are you missing them? Your friends?’

  I nod. ‘Not as much as I thought I would, though. I speak to them every day.’

  ‘And how are they finding it?’

  ‘Caddy loves it. She’s really happy.’ I don’t have to guess this; when I speak to Caddy, her whole voice is brimming with it. She talks happily about her flatmates, her course, her freedom. ‘Rosie’s a bit down, I think, though.’

  ‘Homesick?’

  ‘Maybe? I don’t think she’s made friends with the people she’s living with like Caddy has. But the thing with her is that she’s not great at talking about it when she’s upset, so I don’t know like I would if it was Caddy. She’s staying in closer contact than she usually does, though. We talk every day. That’s not like Rosie.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s glad to be able to talk to you,’ Dilys says. ‘You must be a very good friend to have.’

  I try not to laugh, because there’s too much history and context to explain in one conversation. ‘Well, I try to be. I’m not sure I am, though.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she says. ‘Why would you say that? You just told me your friend speaks to you every day. That is the action of someone who appreciates your friendship.’

  ‘I’ve just made a lot of mistakes that she’s had to deal with,’ I say. ‘She puts up with a lot.’

  ‘So do all friends,’ Dilys says. ‘And all people who care for one another. Don’t be hard on yourself like this. You have such a warm spirit; it’s lovely. I’m sure that’s what your friends are drawn to. Have you ever heard of Yehudi Menuhin?’

  ‘Er, no.’

  ‘I didn’t think so. He was a violinist I admired very much. He once said that the violinist is half tiger, half poet. I thought that was wonderful. So evocative.’

  ‘Is that what you were like?’ I ask.

  ‘Were?’ Dilys repeats, mock-offended.

  ‘Are,’ I correct myself.

  ‘Thank you. My increasing age hasn’t changed my personality. I like to think I can still be fierce.’

  ‘And poetic?’

  ‘Quite. But the reason I brought it up is I think it applies to you, too.’ She smiles at me. ‘Half tiger, half poet.’

  ‘I’m not a poet.’

  ‘He didn’t mean a literal poet, my dear. You can have the soul of a poet and never write a verse. It’s that mix, you see. The fire and art. It’s very special.’

  I know she’s complimenting me, so I smile even as uncertainty needles my pleasure. It’s nice that she thinks of me that way, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve duped her in some way. I’ve tried to be myself with Dilys, but the person she’s describing isn’t me at all. Is it?

  I keep thinking of it, though, as the days pass and Rosie stays in her uncharacteristic close contact. What the two of us mean to each other. Why I’m the person she wants to talk to, even though she bats away any attempts of mine to check that she really is fine. ‘All right, Mum,’ she says, when I try to ask if she’s made friends. ‘I can make my own playdates!’

  On Thursday, I put together a small care package for her, scouring the boutiques in Brighton’s winding lanes for bits and pieces to make her smile. A plasticine owl necklace, a postcard of the old pier at sunset, an ink stamp shaped like a cat. A box of macarons, purple hair clips. Jelly beans, party bunting, a sugar mouse. I handwrite her a letter listing all the things that make her not just my amazing friend but an amazing person, too, which I know will mean a lot to her even if she pretends to be mortified. I send it off with a bow for good measure and feel happy.

  She sends me a message two days later: You made me cry and I hate you xxx

  I smile. Job done.

  9

  ‘Celeste’

  Ezra Vine

  The night before I go to Kel’s friend’s gig, I have a long Skype conversation with Caddy. She’s sitting on her desk, eating spaghetti pesto out of a bowl. I listen as she tells me about her course, going into far too much detail, considering I’m still not sure what linguistics is, and the already-established loyalties in her flat. There’s an argument brewing about washing-up, she says.

  ‘You’ve only been there, like, a week!’ I say. ‘How can you be arguing about that already?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe how much washing-up a couple of guys can build up when they’re washing literally none of it, Suze,’ she says, very seriously. ‘You should see our kitchen. It’s in a total state. I’m on the side of say-nothing-until-it’s-done. Sensible, right? But my flatmate, Tess, she’s all, No, you have to establish boundaries early on, say what is and isn’t OK, right? And this isn’t OK? So she’s out there, right now, piling up all the dirty plates and pans and stuff outside Sam’s door.’

  ‘And you’re … sitting here talking to me?’

  ‘Obviously,’ she says, wide-eyed. ‘Out of the danger zone.’

  I smile. ‘The Caddy approach.’

  ‘I don’t know why people say “conflict-averse” like it’s a bad thing. Who wouldn’t want to be averse to conflict? It’s so much safer. Anyway. How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘I’m very limited on stories to tell you, though. It’s very dull here. Same old.’

  ‘You’re going to the gig tomorrow though, right?’ she says.

  ‘Yeah.’ I hesitate. ‘That’s OK, right?’

  ‘Of course!’ She’s surprised. ‘I told Kel to invite you to stuff! And I think you’ll like Matt’s music a lot.’

  ‘What kind does he play?’

  She looks blankly at me through the screen. ‘It involves a guitar?’

  ‘OK, what kind of guitar?’

  ‘Is there more than one kind of guitar?’

  I laugh. ‘Cads!’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. Music is music. I guess he’s sort of like Passenger? Maybe. I really don’t know. Anyway, you’ll like Matt. He’s cool.’ She frowns suddenly, spinning spaghetti around her fork. ‘Don’t like him too much, though.’

  ‘What is too much?’

  ‘Suze,’ she says warningly. I beam innocently, mostly to wind her up, and she rolls her eyes. ‘Look, just don’t sleep with him, OK?’

  ‘Why, does he have herpes?’

  ‘Suze! Seriously.’

  ‘Herpes is very serious.’ I pause. ‘Herpes … are?’

  ‘You are the worst.’ She freezes suddenly, turning her head towards what must be the door to her room. ‘Uh-oh.’

  ‘Conflict?’

  ‘Someone’s yelling.’ She leans away from the screen. ‘Something about freedom.’

  ‘The freedom to have dirty plates?’

  ‘I think it’s the freedom to be free from other people’s dirty plates.’

  ‘University sounds complicated.’

  Caddy returns her full attention to the screen, a grin on her face. ‘So complicated. I miss you.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ I say. ‘You’re having a ball.’

  ‘Still miss you, though.’

  ‘Mutual,’ I say.

  ‘I should go. Let me know how the gig goes, yeah? And remember—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. No herpes. Good luck with plate-gate. I love you.’ ‘Love you, too.’

  She waves at the screen, her face pixelating in the seconds before the connection ends, then disappears from view.

  I find Kel at the bar in the Third Bridge the next evening, just before eight. His back is to me as he talks to someone, so I tap his shoulder and smile when he turns. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey!’ He smiles big and steps forward to hug me. ‘You made it. Awesome. Want a drink?’

  �
�Sure, but I’ll get it. And whatever you want to drink,’ I say. It’s only fair, considering he’s got me into this gig for free. ‘Beer?’

  His smile gets even bigger, if that’s possible. ‘I knew it was a good idea to invite you. Hey –’ he nudges the guy beside him – ‘Matt, this is Suze.’

  I look up and take in the person he’s talking to properly for the first time. And Oh. Hello. This is Matt? I’m not going to waste any words here. The guy is gorgeous.

  ‘Hey,’ Matt says to me, and as he takes me in I see his casual smile widen with interest. His eyes squint ever so slightly; the corner of his mouth twitches. I swear I see his pupils dilate.

  ‘Hey,’ I say.

  ‘I’m Matt,’ he says, all charm.

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘Kel just told me that.’

  I see the look of surprise flash over his face before he smirks and makes some wisecrack about his name being so good it needs to be said twice. But I saw him falter and I know he’s breakable. Boys never expect you to make fun of them. Teasing them is the best way to hold their interest.

  ‘So when are you on?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, I’m always on,’ he says smoothly.

  I just look at him, then turn deliberately to Kel. ‘Seriously?’

  Kel laughs. ‘Mate, you’re embarrassing yourself.’

  ‘It’s you,’ Matt says to me. ‘You’re throwing me off.’

  These same words from just about anyone else would have turned me right off. But Matt is saying all of this with a twist in his voice, a glint in his eye. There’s something self-aware about him. He knows he’s being One Of Those Guys. He knows he’s being it to me, The Pretty Girl. If I fell for this act, he’d kiss me, flirt with me, take me to bed, sure. But if I don’t, it can be me with the upper hand. I see all of this. He can see it too.

  There’s a fizz in my chest.

  ‘I’m on at nine,’ Matt says, his smile relaxing. ‘It’s cool you came. Kel said you like music?’

  Understatement. ‘Yeah,’ I say.

  ‘Have you listened to any of my stuff?’ His voice is affectedly casual, like he wants me to think my answer doesn’t matter to him.

  ‘Not yet,’ I answer. ‘That’s what tonight is for, right?’

  When Matt comes onstage an hour later, guitar in hand, the crowd cheers and he grins into the microphone, clearly pleased. He opens his set with an upbeat, folky cover of an old Elvis song, ‘Burning Love’, which is the last thing I would have expected, but it works.

  I’d meant it when I said I hadn’t listened to any of his stuff, so it’s all new to me. He’s got a good voice, smooth but with a slight roughness at the edges that gives it all more depth. He talks between songs, funny but relaxed, a near-constant grin on his face. Caddy had called him cool, and he is, but he’s less polished than I’d expected. He’s not trying to be cool.

  At the end of the set, Kel reappears by my side with drinks for us both just as the lights come back up. ‘What did you think?’ he asks.

  ‘He’s good,’ I say, meaning ‘good’ in that understated way that means ‘great’. ‘Does he have a deal or anything?’

  Kel makes a face. ‘No. It’s a bit of a crappy story, actually. He had one, when he was nineteen. Did Caddy tell you anything about it?’ I shake my head. ‘He was spotted by a producer at an open-mic night while he was at uni. The guy had all the big talk, you know? I’ll make you a star, blah blah blah. And that’s what Matt wanted. So he went for it. Dropped out of uni and moved to London.’

  ‘And it didn’t go well?’

  ‘It started well. He got booked on to loads of festivals and stuff; he was even on one of the small stages at Leeds. He was making an EP and they were talking about the album and long-term plans. But then the EP came out and it didn’t get much attention and, well, basically, they dropped him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There wasn’t any big reason. Matt says they just lost faith in him, and that happens. Like, a lot. They don’t want to put the money into making and promoting a whole album, so they pull out. The thing is, I don’t think he was even that upset about it, not really. He wasn’t happy the whole time any of it was happening. The producer was a prick and they weren’t interested in the kind of music he actually wanted to make, they just wanted him to be the next Harry Styles.’

  I smile. ‘That doesn’t sound so bad.’

  Kel laughs. ‘Don’t say that to Matt. He’d love to be the next Harry Styles. He just knows he’s not, you know? And I think that was hard to have shoved into his face all the time.’

  ‘So what does he do now?’

  ‘He’s working in a bar and trying to figure out where to go next. He hasn’t put anything on his YouTube channel in ages and he only said he’d do this gig because he knows Ryan, the owner of the pub. I think he’s burned out.’

  ‘Isn’t he a bit young to be burned out?’ I ask.

  Kel smiles. ‘Yeah, but twenty-one isn’t really considered young in the music industry, is it? It’s not like there aren’t a thousand other wannabes who still do want it, ready to take his place at the first opportunity.’

  ‘That’s shitty.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He gives a resigned shrug. ‘But still. There are worse things that can happen to someone than not being the next Harry Styles, right?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, watching Matt making his way through the crowd towards us, stopping briefly when people talk to him and nodding, smiling for a moment before moving on. ‘I think having your dream that close and then it being taken away is a pretty shitty thing to happen.’

  When Matt finally reaches us, Kel hands over the almost-full pint he’s holding and then leaves to get himself another.

  ‘Nice set,’ I say.

  ‘Thanks!’ Matt takes a gulp from the pint and smiles at me, touching his hand to his hair as if to sweep it back in place, even though it’s not long enough to need it. ‘I was going to get you a drink, but it looks like you’re sorted.’

  ‘I’m sure there’ll be time for more,’ I say.

  His smile widens, relaxing at the same time. He lifts his glass and touches it to mine. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers,’ I say. ‘How long have you played the guitar?’

  We settle into a conversation about music, which is basically my favourite thing to talk about. He plays the piano and bass as well as the guitar, and has always wanted to be a singer. He draws from a lot of different influences and styles, but has what he calls a ‘weakness’ for contemporary folk music. ‘But the cool kind,’ he adds. I point out that he opened his set with a folky Elvis cover, and a spontaneous, genuine grin breaks out over his face. ‘What’s not cool about that?’ he asks.

  We’re talking so easily, in fact, that Kel has been standing beside us for what must have been a while before he coughs, loudly, and stops Matt mid-sentence. ‘Oh, sorry. I was just checking I still existed.’

  I laugh. ‘Sorry. What do you think about the cultural impact of Beatlemania?’

  ‘I think the Beatles are overrated,’ Kel replies. ‘People talk like they invented music.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ I say.

  ‘Right?’ Matt says. ‘Don’t get him started.’

  ‘Kel, I can’t believe you just dissed the Beatles,’ I say.

  ‘Of course you can’t,’ he replies. ‘You’re an eighteen-year-old white girl from Brighton. What you’ve been missing is exposure to other music.’ He grins, full of mischief. ‘Less beige music.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ I say again. ‘Firstly, I’m from Manchester. And secondly, I’m reconsidering our friendship right now.’

  Kel laughs. ‘Fine, Manchester. My point is the same. You’ll thank me one day. Also, “bad” and “overrated” are not the same thing. People make that mistake all the time. The Beatles are great. That doesn’t mean they’re the greatest ever.’

  Matt spreads his hands wide, like, What can you do? ‘This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation,’ he says.

  ‘Clear
ly not,’ I say.

  It’s easier between the three of us after that. We find a free booth near the back of the pub and talk through three rounds. Matt gets his guitar and hands it over so I can try it out. It’s a rich teal colour and completely beautiful. ‘I want one,’ I say, strumming gently. ‘How many guitars do you have?’

  ‘Four. Two electric, two acoustic,’ he says. ‘This is the acoustic I travel with.’

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ I say.

  At this, Matt’s smile widens into a brief, wolfish grin and he all but winks at me. He doesn’t need to say anything; it’s all in that one grin. My entire body goes zing.

  I grin back. ‘Mine’s a bit battered. Plays good, though.’ I hand the guitar back to him and he takes it, sliding it carefully back into its case.

  I can tell by Kel’s face that he thinks we’re getting along too well, probably better than we’re supposed to. He’s glued to his phone and I can guess he’s messaging Caddy, telling on us. I angle my head towards Matt’s and lower my voice so only he can hear me. ‘Caddy told me not to get too close to you.’

  He turns his head slightly so our eyes meet. ‘Yeah? Kel told me the same thing about you.’

  I laugh, and then he laughs, and we’re both laughing when Kel leans forward and asks why.

  ‘We were just saying how perfect you and Caddy are together,’ Matt says.

  ‘So perfect,’ I add.

  Kel looks suspicious, but pleased. ‘Thanks?’ He glances at his phone. ‘I’m going to head out, but I’m meeting some friends in town. You want to come?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’ve got work tomorrow morning. I can’t be out till four.’ Usually, I’d want to be out until four, but I’m trying to be better.

  ‘Matt?’

  ‘I’m wiped out,’ Matt replies. ‘Sorry.’

  Kel shrugs, as easy as ever. ‘You two are meant to be the wild ones.’

  Matt glances at me. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say.

  We both laugh again. Kel rolls his eyes. ‘Right, I’m off. Be good, kids.’ He drains his pint and stands, clapping his hands to his pockets to check for his wallet and phone.

  When he’s gone, I’m suddenly very aware of Matt and me being alone in this small space. The empty glasses on the table. The fact that he looks like he does. Caddy’s plea.